Of Stag Nights and Social Cooperation
by ScorplinginTraining
Summary: In the not so distant future, a recently divorced Walter becomes the best man for Toby and his now ex-wife Happy. Try to imagine a Scorpion style bachelor party. Yep. It goes about that well. Featuring Wedding Planner Paige and a Walter that's WAY outside his comfort zone.
1. Chapter 1

**OF STAG NIGHTS AND SOCIAL COOPERATION**

 **CHAPTER 1**

"Wait. Walter, slow down. I can't understand… You're where? WHAT?! The wedding is in less than nine hours! Okay. Okay. I'm on the way. Walter? WALTER?!" The call was dropped. Paige hit redial, but all she got was a rapid busy signal. "I'm going to kill them," she grumbled and began frantically searching her desk for her car keys.

"Looking for these?" Happy held up a key ring as she strolled into the garage carrying a garment bag over one shoulder. "I needed to use your car. Going somewhere?"

Holding up her hands in a placating gesture as if afraid of upsetting her friend, Paige answered, "It's all good. Glad you're back. Could Ralph stay here with you for a few hours? I don't want him to see… I have to, um… I gotta go…"

"Not a problem. But where are you going? I thought you were going to be here decorating and signing for deliveries all day."

"I'm sorry, Happy. This won't wait. I've picked up the guys' tuxedos. They're hanging in the loft. The flowers are already here. And the extra tables and chairs are all set up. But you'll have to sign for the cake. The caterers will be here at six and the photographer is due by six-thirty. I hope I'm back long before then. If I'm not…you know what? Nevermind. I _will_ get them back here in time!"

"Okay, what have those bozos done now?"

Paige winced as she grabbed her purse and hurried toward the exit, phone in hand. "I don't want you to panic. Stress isn't good for the baby."

"Stop channelling Toby, Dineen. Panicking is Sylvester's department. I just get pissed off. Now, tell me. What's going on?"

"Walter just called. They're all in jail. In Tijuana."

oOoOoO~TWO WEEKS BEFORE~oOoOoO

"So, have you given any thought to my bachelor party?" Toby propped a hip on Walter's desk and peered at him in expectation.

"Your what?" Walter answered distractedly as he continued working on a code bridge for a new software program he and Ralph were designing together.

"You're the best man. Are you trying to shirk your best man duties?" Walter looked up and blinked at Toby in confusion, so the shrink hastened to elaborate. "Celebrating my last night of freedom before I put on the old ball and chain? Getting rough and rowdy with my bros one more time? Ringing any bells, Mega Mind?"

"Why would you want to celebrate being a bachelor or lament losing your freedom? I thought you _wanted_ to get married. If anything, you should want to celebrate me being a bachelor, because that enables you to get married like you said you wanted to."

"Way to make this about you, Super Ego. And it's tradition. One last night of carousing before I settle down to married bliss. And driving a minivan about two months after that."

When Walter still looked annoyed and perplexed, Toby said, "You know what? Don't worry about it. I'll just ask Tim what he recommends. I'm sure he'll have some great ideas for an unforgettable bachelor party." Leave it to a behaviorist to know exactly which button to push.

As if on cue, Walter's lip curled in disgust. "No need for that. I'll do some research and come up with something."

"It better not be a lame something like a science exhibit. I expect it to be _epic_ or Tim becomes my new party coordinator."

After spending the next couple of days researching, Walter still couldn't conceive of how to go about incorporating a long historic poem about heroic deeds into a party without making it something Toby would consider lame. It was becoming clear he would need to consult someone with more expertise in these matters.

He knew right away Sylvester wouldn't know what to do. If it was possible, the mathematician was even more clueless about bachelor parties than Walter himself. Although he could understand where the word 'epic' could be used to describe a comic book genre, he didn't think Toby would enjoy an event based on that. He briefly considered asking Paige for advice, but he was afraid it would somehow translate into an invitation for the interloper to join the party. That was not a desired outcome. Cabe would no doubt think beer and target shooting were adequate activities, but Walter didn't consume alcohol and the geniuses were all pathetic with firearms even when stone cold sober. He thought Richard Elia might have an idea or two, but anything the tycoon could come up with would likely cost more than Walter could afford at that moment. The hasty divorce and immigration lawyer's fees had recently taken a large chunk out of his disposable income.

He had one last resource to tap. It wasn't ideal, but it was the best option he had. So he sucked it up and dialed the last number he had for Ray Spiewack.

After patiently explaining to Walter what the term 'epic party' actually meant, Ray first suggested Vegas as a possible destination. Being attached to his life and all his limbs, and knowing Happy would likely hack off the latter before ending the former if he took Toby within fifty miles of Sin City, the genius wisely asked for other ideas. Then Tijuana came up. It had the advantage of being a fairly close and also an economical choice. Destination decided.

The guest list was easy. Ray had gotten a job as an EMS dispatcher, so he had to work and couldn't make it. Cabe opted to stay home saying he was getting too old to pull an all-nighter before a big family event. So just a behaviorist, a mathematician and a world class hacker were going to walk into a Mexican bar. He should have known immediately no good jokes ever start off that way.

oOoOoOoOoO

He'd never believed in omens or portents. But he had an inkling things weren't going to go well when, upon arriving in Tijuana, Walter was forced to wear a ridiculously large sombrero and sit on the back of a white burro that was painted with black zebra stripes. The animal wasn't fooling anyone. Particularly someone with a 197 IQ. For some inexplicable reason beyond all logic, it was considered an essential component of a visit to the border town to have your portrait taken while making just that spectacle. Once again bowing to a tradition he couldn't pretend to understand, he submitted to making an ass out of himself on the back of, well, an ass while Toby snapped pictures and texted them to the rest of the team. Walter's expression alone set his coworkers braying with laughter as if they were the actual donkeys. Sly laughed from a safe distance away. He was terrified of equines of all breeds.

And it only went downhill from there...


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Moving on from the temporary embarrassment caused by the burro incognito, the next place on the bachelor party itinera-RAY was one of the many microbreweries Tijuana boasts. This particular one was also vetted to have the best seafood tacos in town. Walter wasn't a fan of either beer or enchiladas, but he thought a plate of tacos might be just the thing, especially if they were filled with the fish he preferred. Plus, if a meal was included with beer consumption, it reduced alcohol absorption and diminished the chances of later regurgitation. It was a fact. The groom couldn't hold his liquor.

The trio chose a table over by the bar with a view to the kitchen so they would be served more efficiently. Toby and Sylvester both ordered beer. Toby because he was celebrating. Sly because he was afraid to drink the water. Walter had his usual. Bottled water. Neat.

"Are you sure you want to drink that straight up, Walt? You could try it on the rocks with a twist for a change of pace. Or if you really want to live on the edge, you could try seltzer. Just go crazy!" Toby said, smirking and sipping his ale.

"Ice is made with the local water, you know. Unless you want him to spend the rest of the night in the men's room, I think he's right to drink his water just like it is," Sylvester answered, frowning at the shrink while using an antiseptic wet wipe to clean their table.

"Alright, Nana. I'm just joking. I know someone has to be the designated driver for this wild bunch. This party is lit." Toby said sarcastically before adding under his breath, "…like a wet match. In a downpour."

A waitress meandered her way over to get their food orders. The three of them were giving her their choices just as a muscle bound and obviously inebriated man stumbled through the entrance followed closely by a giggling and jiggling bottle blonde whose double D's were barely restrained by what amounted to intricately knotted dental floss just sufficient enough to hide the minimum of essentials. The configuration and its ability to support weight would have made Mark Collins envious. With every inhaled breath, she was in peril of exposing herself completely.

Sly's mouth and eyes popped open wide, he flushed red and looked the other direction. Walter froze, staring and nodding absently in answer to a question posed by the waitress while Toby grinned and watched the reactions of his two friends knowingly. He was going to get them into a strip club that night if it killed him. Just imagining it had him chuckling to himself.

"What're you lookin' at!" the drunk slurred at the trio belligerently before belching loud enough to rattle the windows.

With a look of barely suppressed disgust on his face, Walter shook his head and raised his hands, palms out while the others nodded. "Nothing. Not a thing," the Scorpion leader said.

For the next few minutes, the Team Scorpion members pretended intense interest in their respective drinks while the couple at the bar made out enthusiastically. Obviously neither one was an intellectual giant when they hadn't been sucking down mojitos in the hot Baja sun all day. But when completely tanked, they appeared to have only one functioning brain cell between them. And it was misfiring.

Still firmly gripping a handful of the blonde's bountiful butt, the man said to the bartender in the kind of loud whisper that only the supremely intoxicated can pull off which anyone within a five mile radius is able to hear, "Say. Uh, dude. Do you know where I could score some blow?"

When the bartender just stared back with a blank expression, the blonde did her best imitation of the quintessential obnoxious American tourist and asked loudly and slowly as if the man behind the counter was not only deaf but mentally challenged, "What'sa matter with you? Don't you speak English? Hab-blah English, seen-your?!"

Walter was biting his lip trying to hold in a stream of facts that would get them all killed. Well, maiming was more likely considering the big man at the bar was completely trashed. Toby kicked his ankle under the table while Sylvester looked at him then shook his head almost imperceptibly as his eyes darted back and forth between his exasperated friend and the obnoxious couple.

They were temporarily saved by the arrival of their tacos. To keep himself from making any rude comments, Walter took a large bite…and his whole head burst into flames. Clearly the waitress had asked him something very important while he was staring at the bimbo in the string bikini. The restaurant was known for their ghost pepper sauce. He discovered the hard way that his tacos were liberally doused in it.

Gasping and sweating, eyes streaming, Walter grabbed his water bottle and chugged. He vaguely heard Sylvester say around the roar of fire in his ears, "Ghost peppers are at least 107 times hotter than the jalapeno."

Followed by Toby telling him, "Water doesn't help, man. You need bread! Ask for tortillas!"

At that moment, Walter wasn't able to breathe let alone ask for anything and their waitress was over by the bar. So he staggered blindly, eyes still tearing profusely, toward her trying to get her attention. Thinking he'd arrived at his destination, he reached out. But instead of finding the hard, smooth surface of the bar top, his hand fell on and grasped something soft and pliable.

The blonde bimbo screeched at the top of her lungs piercing everyone's eardrums with her shrillness. His ears ringing, he briefly and stupidly wondered why the glasses behind the bar weren't shattering. In the next instant, Walter released her breast as if it was a live rattlesnake. Unfortunately, the damage was done and her partner roared and cocked a beefy fist back and let it fly toward the genius' perspiring face. Considering the condition of the assailant, Walter was able to duck in plenty of time, even through the watery, red haze that was his vision. The enraged man was steadying himself to try again when he suddenly fell to his knees, reeling. The waitress got him from behind with her tray. The buxom woman started shrieking again.

Toby dropped a few bills on their table while Sylvester grabbed Walter's elbow and skittered for the door zigzagging between barstools, chairs, patrons, wait staff and other tables dragging his nearly sightless friend behind him. The three of them sprinted out the door yelling, "iGracias!" over their shoulders. Only momentarily stunned, the drunken lout got to his feet and lurched after them in hot pursuit. The blonde's screams followed them out into the night.

Fortunately for the three amigos, they had the distinct advantage of clear, if not cool, heads and were able to evade the bumbling, murderous idiot by fleeing into the local mercado and getting lost in the crowd. Soon Sylvester got distracted by the numerous and colorful items on display and decided he wanted to do a little shopping.

Toby looked less than excited with the prospect. "Wow. You both really know how to show a guy a good time. Considering I was almost killed and I missed dinner thanks to 197's grabby hands, the least you can do is buy me a churro if you're going to force me into shopping with you."

Paige and Happy would have their heads on a platter if any of them would have come back with a black eye from that confrontation. It would ruin the wedding photos. So Walter was glad they were able to dodge that eventuality and the subsequent wrath of the female members of the team. And he was moderately relieved at the idea of shopping. After all, what could possibly go wrong in a market place?

 **AN: If you are looking for the Waige component to the story, we will get there. But right now I'm having WAY too much fun playing with the Scorpion boys and the bachelor party/road trip from hell.**


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

Mind numbing boredom. Deadly, skull-crushing, relentless tedium. Walter's normal apathy toward cheap Mexican souvenirs was quickly growing into ardent hatred as Sylvester and Toby pawed through stall after stall of gaudy junk that was probably all manufactured in China anyway. Also the cacophony of rapid Spanish haggling combined with his personal space constantly being violated by jostling, shouting customers and merchants as well as unsupervised, rowdy children with sticky fingers made him want to run screaming as fast as he could back to LA. Was there any torment on the planet worse than _shopping_? …And it had only been fourteen minutes.

The problem was, his companions were having the time of their lives making each other try on serapes or shaking maracas while gyrating their hips or debating on which alebrijes resembled which team members and munching on hot churros. Walter dragged behind them wishing he was anywhere else. Toby kept accumulating more and more rubbish he thought Happy would find amusing or Tobias Merriweather Curtis, Jr might like. As if a fetus in utero had preferences about vibrant, but poorly constructed toys or tiny soccer jerseys.

Then he saw it.

Among the garish, plastic garbage was a delicate but striking stained glass Monarch Butterfly. It was completely preposterous. It was utterly ridiculous. It was _sentimental_ for crying out loud. But it reminded him of Paige. And he just knew she had to have it. Logic be damned. And suddenly he was part of the fray, bargaining and shouting along with everyone else. Walter couldn't explain it, but he _needed_ that butterfly for Paige. His all consuming thought in that moment was how her face would light up when she saw it.

When that frivolous piece of nonsense was securely in his possession, Walter started to feel self-conscious under Toby's scrutiny. So, needing a cover, he threw himself into the spirit of things. He found a few gadgets he thought Ralph might like, he picked up something whimsical for Cabe and he even bought something for Happy's incubating scorpling. Toby was still staring at him curiously. But for some reason, Walter didn't mind. He was…having fun.

Soon, the trio had acquired so much detritus; they had to buy a large, woven tote bag to contain all of it. The company car was parked on the US side of the border in a long term parking lot, so leaving their purchases in the trunk wasn't an option. They decided they would take turns lugging the loot around with them for the duration.

Figuring it was most efficient to start from the oldest and end with the youngest finishing the night with the weighty satchel, Toby was first to shoulder the burden. As they were walking down the last aisle of booths toward the exit, someone streaked past and snatched the bag off Toby's arm making the shrink pivot in a 360 degree turn from the unexpected momentum. Then he fell squarely on his backside.

While Sylvester helped the doc to his feet, Walter shouted at the thief and set off at a dead run after him. His only focus was on retrieving Paige's glass butterfly which was carefully nestled among the other items. Toby wasn't far behind him with Sly huffing and puffing, but holding his own, bringing up the rear.

Just as the bandit was rounding the corner and was about to escape into the street, Walter caught a fistful of the back of his shirt and yanked him backwards catching one strap of the bag with his other hand. They both fell backwards in a heap. Scrambling to get up, and with a determined look, the man reacted fast enough to grab the bag's other strap. And he started an absurd tug-of-war with the even more stubborn genius. The thief began bawling to anyone within earshot that the bag was his and Walter was actually trying to take it from him.

A rotund, middle-aged woman working at a fruit and vegetable stand near the exit caught the exchange, but she made the mistaken assumption that Walter was the troublemaker. Right when Toby caught up, she raised a war cry. She was much louder than the frustrated thief. Calling down the power of everyone from the local policia to all the saints to help and alternately releasing impressive streams of Spanish obscenities, she began to hurl her wares at whomever she perceived as the offenders and everyone in between. Overripe peaches and mangoes rained down and squelched on the floor in sticky puddles of pulpy juice.

The thief recovered first and, abandoning his ill-gotten spoils, high-tailed it away as fast as he could.

By the time Sylvester arrived on the scene, the persistent deluge of fruit caused him to slide in the slippery pools of mush. The human calculator was transformed into the human equivalent of a bowling ball instead. With arms pin-wheeling, he skidded full force into Toby sending him sprawling on top of Walter.

Imitating a bizarre jello-wrestling match in the wreckage of fruit missiles, the pile up of geniuses struggled for purchase, uncoiling their extremities as quickly as possible. Their clothes, tacky with juice, were clinging to their skins like glue. Slipping and sliding through the ever growing muck, they began to run for the exit, the tote bag forgotten momentarily. Then Walter recalled what started the ruckus, looked back and spied it on the floor. Bravely facing the fruit grenades once again, he hustled back, grabbed it and darted toward the door with the angry merchant now following behind him with another armful of projectiles.

Erupting out into the street, he careened after Toby and Sly. Something connected with the back of his head and burst with a squish, sending red droplets flying around him like a bloody halo. Tomato seeds and juice slid down the back of his collar. As the three friends darted down a side street, Toby looked over his shoulder to see if the fruit vendor was gaining on them. He was in the lead until his inattention caused him to run smack into a very solid object making him take another hard fall on his already bruised tailbone.

"Oh, my sacrum," he grumbled.

The solid object let out a grunt and when a stunned Toby recovered and looked up, he saw to his chagrin, it was the drunk from the earlier restaurant encounter who was sluggishly connecting the same dots. Crab walking backward and yelling for the others to retreat as the still tipsy, mountainous man made a grab for him, Toby jumped to his feet. They all did a 180 on the spot and dashed back the way they came.

Passing the furious but thankfully slower fruit hurler, the trio ran by while she continued trying to pelt them with her remaining stock. A stray lemon bounced off Sylvester's temple as they turned down an alley way.

Spotting a chicken coop, the geniuses, now completely out of breath and looking for a place to hide, dashed up the ramp and wrenched open the door. Toby and Walter didn't hesitate. They crossed the threshold and started to duck down under the nesting boxes when they noticed Sly frozen in the doorway. The world class ornithologist was terrified of birds. Reaching out, they simultaneously jerked Sylvester inside and shoved him, whimpering into the dark recesses of the coop just as they heard the thundering footfalls of their irate pursuers go past.

Still winded, the team members stayed hunkered down until they were sure the coast was clear. The few sleepy hens in the enclosure didn't seem to be bothered by their sudden appearance or their continued presence. The reason became apparent as soon as they stood up to leave. Streaked with dirt and covered in remnants of fruit and feathers, each of them looked like they had been tarred and feathered. They could easily be mistaken for large, mutant, fruity smelling chickens. Walter's massive feathered headdress was particularly impressive.

 **AN: Please review. It makes my day if I know I made you laugh.**


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

The three boys of Scorpion stood blinking in the dimness of the chicken coop for a few minutes while eyeing each other up and down.

"Just a guess. But I think this is probably how the phrase 'chickening out' originated," Toby deadpanned as a puff of down drifted from the brim of his hat and past his cheek before gently coming to rest on his shoulder.

They all began snickering quietly. "Okay. Uh, one of us needs to hatch a plan," Walter said with an expectant look, but his comment only caused the others to groan softly and roll their eyes.

Toby shook his head and muttered, "What have I told you about trying to be funny, 197?"

Interrupting with a chuckle, Sylvester added, "I'm not going to brood about it, but we'd all better shake our tail feathers…"

Not to be outdone, Toby snorted, "Way to egg him on, Sly!" Then added, "Well, this might ruffle a few feathers, but couldn't we just cross the road and get to the other side?"

"That idea was… was n-nothing to crow about!" Sylvester finished and they all just lost it. Any control they had flew the coop.

When the three of them could breathe again, Toby said mock soberly, "What I'd like to know is which of our purchases was _so_ important it made you lose your dignity, and one might say risk your very life, to save it, Walt? Was it the John Wayne bobble head you bought for Cabe? Hmm? In total it was less than a hundred dollars worth of cheap and completely replaceable crap."

"Technically it only cost seventy-eight dollars and twelve cents including the bag. But it sounds more valuable in pesos… That's one thousand four hundred eighty-five pesos and thirty-six centavos. Just in case you were wondering." The human calculator blurted out, unable to help himself.

"We weren't," Toby said, before turning back to Walter, "So… what exactly were you so keen to save?"

Ignoring the question, Walter said, "Maybe we should brush off as best as we can and just head home now…"

"Don't even think about it! We aren't giving up now! There is _way_ too much blood in my alcohol for one thing and I've only seen one scantily clad woman all night! And that was purely by accident! _And_ it nearly got us killed! You owe me, O'Brien! You were married to my fiancée while I was dating her and didn't even tell me! You can't let this sorry excuse for a stag night pass as my only bachelor party ever!" Toby demanded emphatically forgetting to modulate his voice.

All impatience, Walter hissed, "Well, what do you suggest? We are covered in fruit juice and filth and now feathers. What can we do in this condition except go home?"

"I second that," Sylvester added.

"Well, that motion doesn't carry. I say we find somewhere to wash up and buy clean shirts. I'm not going anywhere until I visit the infamous Zona Norte. You guys can head back if you want, but you two wienies get to explain to Happy why you returned without her groom."

"We can't go back to the market. Not with that fruit flinging freak hanging around. So, where would we even get shirts?" Sylvester whined as they exited the chicken coop.

"Oh, senors? You looking for a good time?" A lilting, heavily accented voice intoned from a doorway across the alley. "I can't help I overhear your troubles. Come inside. You will find what you need. Soap and water? New shirts? Rum drinks? Tequila shots? Exotic, pretty, dancing girls? All for you. You come with me." A beautiful woman with long dark hair wearing a silky, red robe and too much make-up stepped out of the shadows. She dropped her burning cigarette and ground it out under the toe of one ice pick heeled shoe.

"Sounds like our solution found us. Don't be chicken hearted!" Toby called over his shoulder as he walked toward the now open door leaving a trail of feathers in his wake. Thumping bump and grind music blared out at them from inside the club.

Walter frowned and looked a little queasy but followed the behaviorist in the direction the woman led while Sly mumbled to himself, "You'd better be cock sure this is all it's cracked up to be, or we might end up with more than egg on our faces!"

oOoOoOoOoO

The three men, wearing freshly pressed guayabera shirts in different colors, were seated right at the perimeter of the stage. Toby was on the edge of his seat in anticipation. Sly was on the edge of his seat in case he needed to escape quickly. Walter was just on edge.

The room was dimly lit and smelled of perfume and booze and the sweaty, whistling and shouting men seated around them. An obnoxious, slobbering drunk plopped down in the chair next to Sylvester's. Sly scooted as close to Toby as it was possible eyeing the stranger with distaste as he slapped the stage and demanded a private show. A woman from the bar slid into the space between Sly and the obviously loaded patron purring for him to buy her a drink. The drunk complied and the two of them exchanged lewd comments while he paid for booze she only pretended to drink.

Suddenly the house lights went out and the stage was flooded with spiralling multicolored lights and strobes and nearly nude women swayed out onto the stage shimmying and shaking their hips to the beat. Sylvester averted his wide eyes to his drink. Walter looked appalled while Toby laughed and snapped photos of his friends' expressions.

It wasn't long before a woman in skimpy shorts, a tiny, see through halter top, and thigh high boots slinked up to the trio by the stage. "I understand one of you is getting married tomorrow. How 'bout a lap dance for the groom?" She asked in a sultry tone.

Toby held up his hands shaking his head. "Sorry. My bride-to-be would kill me. I wouldn't live long enough to get married. No way."

Sylvester sat mute looking terrified at the prospect and scooting himself, chair and all, away from her. He held up his left hand and showed her the band-aid. "Taken!" Was all he managed to squeak out.

Then as the stripper approached Walter, eyebrows raised, Toby's expression turned downright evil. "This guy here is my best man. I think I'd love it if you would do a lap dance for him."

Walter's mouth dropped open, but before he could say a word in protest, she had already climbed onto his lap straddling him. The genius blushed furiously and blustered,"uh...this isn't necessary..." while trying to sit back as far away from the woman in his lap as possible. His hands were raised on either side of his head as if he didn't know what to do with them.

As she began to rotate her pelvis, she leaned into Walter's horrified face and whispered, "Just relax and enjoy, honey!"

Toby was breathless with laughter as he filmed the whole scene with his phone. Sly watched the happenings with amused sympathy.

Walter stuttered, his face turned to the side away from the woman grinding in his lap, "O-okay. That's-that's, uh, suf-sufficient. Thank you?"

When she didn't budge from her perch, he began to offer her a tip just to get off of him. When the fee got to a place that was acceptable to her, she got up and slipped the offered money into the waistband of her shorts. Winking at Walter, she said, "Thanks for the ride, cutie!" And left him paralyzed from aversion, face blazing.

"Delete that recording, or you're a dead man, Toby!" Walter said between clenched teeth.

That's when they both looked over and noticed Sylvester acting strangely. The big man stood up and was reeling. "I think the world is tilting on its access...I mean axis," he slurred, "I mean at a different angle than the usual 23.4 degrees of axial tilt. This feels more like 32 degrees... and I'm not adjusting to the new angle at all well."

Toby looked and saw that Sly had been drinking from the wrong glass. The woman next to him had left her drink that the other man bought for her when she had wandered off. And the human calculator miscalculated and finished it.

 **AN: The whole idea for this story came from a short clip I saw of Elyes singing 'Pony' by Ginuwine. It is the world's nastiest song, and it sounds like a frog is burping all the way through it, but somehow it's catchy and makes everyone that hears it start dancing like a stripper... Then I got to thinking, which is a dangerous thing on a good day, how would Walter O'Brien react to a lap dance (from someone other than Paige) and why would he ever end up in that situation? Voila! A silly story is born (or hatched?)**

 **Waige scenes are still coming, but I have to get the guys arrested first. Stay tuned.**


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

By tacit agreement, Toby and Walter each grabbed an arm and wrestled a teetering Sylvester in between them toward the nearest exit. The younger man began belting out the Super Fun Guy theme song at top volume and giggling each time his numbed lips babbled and faltered disjointedly over the lyrics.

"Walt, this isn't just the alcohol talking, or in this case, singing," Toby bellowed over the club's music, Sylvester's serenade and the roar of the other men in the bar screaming 'down in front!' at the three geniuses. The human calculator began stroking the side of Walter's face with his fingertips then frowned at his hand as if he'd never seen it before.

Walter leaned away from Sly's questing fingers while still trying to maintain balance as they weaved through the tables. "Why do you say that?" he yelled back.

"You're all stub-stubbly. Stubbly. I like that word. Stubbly. Stuuubbbleee," Sylvester jabbered, grinning crookedly.

Peering at Walter around Sly's girth, Toby answered, "It would take more than four ounces of watered down alcohol to make the big guy this silly. Someone slipped something in that drink he had."

"It was Miss Sch-sch-karlet in the strip-p-p, in the stripppp, the clubb with the poishon," Sylvester stuttered, dragging his feet and snickering gleefully at his own cleverness, "Aren't all the whirly, whirly lights in here just da-dazzling?" He knocked his glasses askew as his head listed to one side and his mouth hung open stupidly. He halted and stared at said lights, momentarily mesmerized.

Ignoring his plastered friend's ramblings and tugging on his arm to get him moving again, Walter asked as they approached the same door to the alley where they'd entered the club earlier, "What should we do?"

"Aside from seeking out medical care and having to explain to the local authorities how this happened or simply letting the substance wear off, I guess we could try to induce v-o-m-i-t-i-n-g," Toby replied, spelling the last word in a stage whisper.

"No! No way. You aren't gonna make me puke," Sylvester whimpered as they staggered out into the night. The trio resembled a three-headed beast lumbering through the shadows.

The doc patted his arm. "Just one quick liquid scream and I promise you will start to feel all better, buddy."

With more strength than someone in his condition was expected to have, Sly jerked his arms out of his friends' grasp and wobbled at top speed toward the chicken coop where they'd taken refuge before. He tripped up the incline, entered into the darkened recesses, slammed the screen door and slid down to sit on the other side effectively blocking the others from coming in after him. He immediately started to hum 'The Chicken Dance' to himself.

As the two older geniuses crouched down on the other side of the door trying to reason with Sylvester, they looked for something to pry the hinges off the door so they wouldn't have to destroy the screen and subsequently release the chickens. That's when the back entrance of the club burst open.

"There they are, Diego! They were with that man who tried to drug me, mijo! Get them!" an upset female voice screeched.

Startled, Walter and Toby turned toward the shouting and saw that the woman was pointing in their direction. And the enormous bouncer beside her was focusing his murderous gaze right back at them.

"Here we go. Déjà vu, all over again," Toby muttered sotto voce as Walter hissed sharply for Sylvester to 'Stay put!' They leapt off the ramp and took off running once more down the alleyway.

"I just want to know one thing. Is this a bachelor party or are we trying out for the olympic track team?" Toby panted as he sprinted after Walter.

Just then Sylvester erupted from the chicken coop in nothing but a t-shirt and boxers with a few hens flapping and clucking at his heels. He clutched an armful of eggs to his chest and was wavering after his speeding friends and their pursuer, hurling his weapons at the bouncer's back and howling, "I'm Super Fun Guy and the yolks on you!" Fortunately, he didn't exactly have deadly aim in his impaired state.

Unfortunately, however, as they rushed out of the alley into the street, a passing uniformed cop turned toward them to see what the fuss was about. As if in slow motion, an egg arced through the air and exploded on contact…with the officer's forehead.

As the official angrily wiped at the slime on his face, Sylvester cackled, "I'm Super Fun Guy and the yolks on you..." Then he barfed spectacularly right at the cop's feet.

OoOoOoOoOo

Cabe couldn't convince Homeland to get a chopper for them, but as he and Paige roared down Interstate 5 in the black Suburban with red and blue lights blazing, he managed to clear the traffic well enough with the help of the California Highway Patrol. They made it to the border in just over two hours. When they pulled into Chula Vista, he called Agent Sanchez from the drone case Scorpion worked the year before and he asked for a favor. So the wheels were already being greased before they even reached the jail where their friends were being held.

It took another hour or so to fill out paper work and pay any fines, both official and under the table, to spring the three jailbirds.

Cabe and an exasperated Paige were led back to the drunk tank where the others were incarcerated. The view through the bars into the dingy cell was not a pleasant one. All three men slouched on the dusty floor in a row. Sly, his undershirt stained with something very unpalatable, was clutching his head and groaning softly. A frustrated Walter fisted both hands his hair as if he wanted to pull it all out while Toby softly sang 'Nobody knows the Trouble I've Seen' to nobody who was interested.

They looked up at their coworkers' approach. Each of them was sporting a matching, absolutely splendid shiner. It seemed there was another occupant in their cell when they'd arrived. It was the drunken tourist from their encounter at the microbrewery. After working over each genius in turn and admiring the equality of his handywork, he proceeded to pass out. At that precise moment, he was stretched out prone on the floor emitting a string of prodigious snores that were guaranteed to keep everyone else in his general vicinity awake.

In a subdued huddle, the three friends shuffled after Cabe and Paige to the desk to collect their valuables. None of them were in the mood to explain their sorry state or the reason for the charges against them. No amount of teasing from the Homeland agent could pry the story out of them. Yet.

Paige reached up and tugged a sticky feather from one of Walter's curls and wondered absently why the front of his shirt was covered with glitter, but was a little afraid of the answer. And she certainly didn't want to know why they all smelled like an overripe fruit salad with hints of ammonia and booze thrown in. Their ambiance was overwhelming in the enclosed space of the Suburban and the ride back was slower as the human calculator kept asking them to pull over so he could christen the roadway with what remained of his stomach contents.

 **AN: Next stop, the wrath of Happy. If I can write it right. I don't always channel Happy properly. And of course the wedding with a side of Waige fluff.**


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

The sorry troop of geniuses was ushered into the garage by a cautious Cabe and a purposeful Paige only to be met almost at the door by a very unhappy Happy. The enraged bridezilla was fuming with her trademark volatile temper. There was going to be a tornadic disturbance in this cyclone that would leave a mile wide path of destruction if it wasn't handled very carefully. Not unlike a sweating stick of dynamite or a lake full of CO2 in Ireland. The sight of the matching bruises radiating around one bloodshot eye each did not evoke any sympathy in the least. In fact, it had quite the opposite effect; even Sylvester's dark purple contusion which clashed hideously with the greenish pallor of his face.

Happy's silent glare halted them in their tracks faster than a collision with a brick wall. She stood like an irate statue, arms folded atop her protruding baby bump.

Being the liaison for the group, Paige attempted to speak first. "Happy, you have every right to be angry. But if we are going to have a wedding here today, we need to put it aside for now. We need to finish setting up and then we will have to attempt some damage control for the pictures…"

Then Toby started in, "Use your words, sugar plum…"

"Just shut it and I'll show you some words! What the hell were you three idiots thinking?!" She erupted more violently than Vesuvius, "O'Brien, didn't I tell you not to take Toby out the night before the stupid ceremony?! I should have divorced you and let you get deported years ago! It would have saved me a world of trouble!"

Walter had the grace to look sheepish, "I apologize. I was just trying to stick with tradition…?"

"Stuff your tradition! And what did you numbskulls do to get tossed in jail?! Sly, what the hell did you think you were doing?! I expected you to be under control at least!"

The human calculator cringed as much from the effect the volume was having on his throbbing head as from the words themselves. "You know I've never been able to withstand peer pressure," he uttered with what he hoped was a mollifying smile.

"Way to throw us under the bus, pal," Toby mumbled out the side of his mouth.

Ignoring them, Happy continued to spew, "You boneheads look like something a cat barfed up. How the hell are we supposed to work with this?! And _you_ ," she gritted out between clenched teeth, pointing a shaking finger at Toby, "I didn't even want this monstrosity of a wedding in the first place! But while you were out carousing, abusing who knows what substances and ogling strippers, my big, fat pregnant ass and Dineen here have been running ourselves ragged trying to get ready for what was supposed to be the happiest day…" Her voice broke and she turned her back to them taking several deep, shuddering breaths. "Damn these pregnancy hormones," she murmured in a choked whisper, swiping at her face.

The tears were much tougher to take than the full force of her fury making the offenders feel smaller than a single charged particle.

Tentatively, Toby approached her and set a hand cautiously on her shoulder. She shrugged it off then elbowed him solidly in the gut. "Don't think you're off the hook, Doc," Happy grated out when he grunted in pain.

"I love every square inch of your pregnant ass. And I really am so sorry, Happy. Are you still going to marry me today?" He asked meekly when he got his breath back.

"I guess I have to. If only so I can vow to make you pay for the rest of our lives. The length of _your_ life is yet to be determined and is currently at my whim. Now leave me the hell alone. Go clean yourself up and try to do something about the train wreck that's your face," she sniffed, still not looking at her fiancé.

Three shamefaced geniuses trudged up the stairs to the loft. Paige slipped an arm around Happy's shoulders and the two women scowled after them in solidarity before starting into the flurry of activity required to get the event back on track.

oOoOoOoOoO

In spite of the rocky start, the wedding was as beautifully perfect as it could be. Not because of the ceremony itself, but because when two people are so obviously in love, every imperfection, like the groom and two of the attendants having black eyes, becomes unimportant background noise. Both Cabe and her father escorted Happy down the aisle. No one gave her away. She was her own person, so she gave herself freely and accepted Toby in return.

The attendants were resplendent in their wedding finery. The men were in simple black tuxedos with red bow ties, the most logical choice in case of emergency according to the junior groomsman. The best man couldn't pry his gaze away from the maid of honor in her short, red dress especially when she sang 'When I Fall in Love' for the processional.

From the groom's teary eyes and the look of utter awe on his face as he watched the love of his life approach, to their first kiss as 'woman and husband' that was just the right amount of hot and sweet, to the triumphant grins on both of their faces during the recessional (a version of 'Stand by You' sung by all the other beaming Scorpion team members), no one could have asked for a happier event.

Walter stayed long enough to stumble through his awkward toast that had Toby grumbling about the worst best man ever, and to see Happy dance with her father and her new husband. Knowing the bride like he did, he knew she wouldn't consider it rude if her ex-husband didn't take a turn around the dance floor with her. She wouldn't even notice. While he was glad that his friends were so happy, the whole thing was bittersweet for him because it served as a reminder of exactly how alone he was and would likely remain. And he really didn't want to witness Paige looking so incredibly stunning and dancing with Tim all night, basking in the romantic after glow of the wedding. So he ducked downstairs and began to clean up the lower floor.

Beside a stack of wedding gifts piled by the front door, Walter spied the bag they'd bought at the mercado to hold all their useless trinkets. It was slouched in the corner, now dirty and stained with one strap hanging by a thread, but it had somehow survived and made the trip back with them. His heart felt a strange sort of kinship with that bag but in the opposite sense. It felt damaged and bruised, yet it was still functional as the simple circulatory muscle he'd always claimed it was. His mouth kicked up at the corner as he considered that absurd analogy, shaking his head at his own nonsense. Exactly when had he abandoned his firm grasp on logic? Probably about the time he'd fallen in love with Paige.

Cabe must have retrieved the bag from the police station when they were collecting their other valuables and brought it in from the car at some point when everyone else was finishing the wedding preparations. Wondering if the butterfly had survived the whole bachelor party debacle, he rummaged through the broken maracas and wadded churro wrappers until he found it swaddled in a t-shirt and stuffed in the crown of a small sombrero. It was mostly in tact with one wing bent at a slightly crooked angle. Straightening it as best as he could and rubbing at a smudge of some unknown substance, he smiled to himself and placed it on the corner of Paige's desk by her inbox then proceeded to the kitchen area to start washing dishes.

Paige spent the better part of the reception scanning for Walter in the corners and shadows while she danced with every other male in attendance except him, including her son and even the officiant. Her feet were killing her, so she kicked off her strappy high heels and decided to go looking for him. She searched his loft first, expecting to find him sitting on the couch with his laptop open on his legs and his sock-clad feet propped on the coffee table tapping away on his keyboard. Frowning when she didn't see him there, she started down the stairs, padding softly on her bare feet.

When she passed her desk, her eyes landed on a delicate glass butterfly, one wing ever so slightly bent where it was soldered together. Drifting over, she picked it up and cradled it in one palm. Her pulse began thrumming in her veins. Was it possible? Could it be? Only one way to find out. But she had to find him first.

Gingerly setting the butterfly back down on the desk, Paige turned and saw Walter at the sink, jacket off and draped over a kitchen chair, sleeves rolled to his elbows and tie hanging loosely on either side of his neck. Even though he was less formal than he was at the wedding, the view was still splendid. She sighed.

Between her shoeless feet and the running water, he didn't hear her approach, so he startled slightly when she walked up beside him and, grabbing a dish towel, wordlessly began to dry the clean utensils.

They worked in silence for a few minutes before she finally said, "Thank you."

"Oh, well, you and Happy did the majority of the work setting up, because we were in jail all night. The least I can do is help clean up afterwards. Thank _you_ for making their wedding such a success. And you- your solo was, uh, lovely." Walter knew he was babbling, but he hadn't had Paige this close in a good while and it was doing strange things to his equilibrium.

"Walter," she said softly and he shivered. He loved it when she said his name in that tone. "I'm talking about the butterfly. It was you, wasn't it?"

"Oh, um, yes. We-we got souvenirs for everyone…," he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck and staring at the streaming water, his hands, the dishes, anything but her.

Paige sounded a little disappointed when she said, "Well, I love it. It's beautiful."

Shoulder to shoulder, they continued to work a few more minutes. She nudged his shoulder with hers. "So, what was it like? It must have been some night."

Shutting off the tap and looking at her fully for the first time, he rolled his eyes and said wryly, "You could say that. Or you could call it what it was. A total disaster from start to finish. I made a complete mess of it. Toby should have known better than to ask me to be his best man."

"I think you made an exceptional best man. Just because you don't know anything about bachelor parties doesn't mean you didn't do a good job. You opened your home for their wedding. They wouldn't even have met if it weren't for you. And at least you didn't lose the ring, right? He should be grateful."

"It was because of me that they couldn't get married right away, because I was married to his fiancée, remember? And you were there for the toast. Paige, I'm no one's best anything. My own family prefers Sylvester to me." He turned back to the sink and swiped at a platter with a wet cloth.

Touching his arm, she turned him to face her. "I can honestly say you are the absolute best friend my son and I have ever had."

Walter's expression shuttered and his mouth twisted in a semblance of a smile. "Yep. That's me."

Grabbing his chin, she said firmly, "You can't dismiss that. I don't trust easily. You know my history now. And you have always been there for us. Always put us before yourself. No one else has ever done that before. It's a big deal to me." One hand still curled around his face, she tsked, "Look at your poor eye. Please tell me the other guy looked worse."

Scoffing, he said, "With the exception of what is sure to be massive hangover, he was completely unharmed, I assure you."

On impulse, Paige pushed herself up on her toes. Placing her other hand on his shoulder she gently kissed his cheek by his injured eye, lingering for a few moments.

Sucking in a breath through his teeth, Walter jerked his head back and wrenched his chin out of her hand. "Don't. Please."

An awkward silence filled the kitchen and he shifted his weight from foot to foot, refusing to look at her. "I'm sorry. Did I hurt your eye?" she asked.

After a few beats, he answered, "No. Not my eye. It's fine."

"Oh. I see. Walter, I think I actually owe you lots of apologies if you are ready to hear them."

"What for?" He asked, genuinely confused.

"Because I let myself forget how much you've done for us and how you always protect us. For not acknowledging or telling you how proud I am of the leaps in human progress you've made lately. I have noticed, believe me. For the negative things I've said that I didn't really mean about being a part of this team and the amazing people I work with because I was trying to talk myself into wanting 'normal'. For flaunting a lukewarm relationship in front of your face trying to get you to admit something you weren't ready to say. I've hurt you. And I hate that."

Frowning and blinking while he attempted to process her words, he finally said, "Lukewarm?"

A smile tugged at her lips. "Is that all you heard? Yes, Walter," then turning back to the dishes, she continued, "We broke up about three weeks ago. It just kind of fell apart. He's transferring to another division of Homeland soon. We didn't want to make some big announcement."

All of the sudden it felt like he could breathe for the first time in months. Like the tight fist squeezing his heart finally relaxed. Attempting to hide a smile and not quite succeeding, he asked, "Are you okay?"

"I'm perfectly fine. I just hate the distance all this has put between us."

"I may not be fully formed, but even I know the fault isn't entirely yours. I pushed you away and I unintentionally toyed with your feelings for over a year. I don't blame you for giving up and moving on. But for the record, when I was ready to say something, no one would let me. Including you."

"What? Who says you aren't fully formed? Who told you not to say anything? And when exactly did I stop you from saying something?"

"Well, first Cabe. Then Toby told me multiple times to leave you alone. Even Tim once. And you? You said you didn't want to hear my explanation. That I wasn't in control and we would discuss it when and if you wanted to. I just assumed you never wanted to."

"Oh, Walter," she said on a sigh, "I guess I have something else to apologize for. And Cabe and Toby are both going to hear from me about this. Our business is none of theirs."

"Paige. They meant well. And they weren't wrong. Not about me. There's a whole lot at stake. It's bigger than my feelings."

They went back to wiping dishes for a time, both lost in thought. When they were done, Paige took the rag from Walter's hand, dropped it back into the sink and turned him to face her again. "Well, I'm ready for your explanation now, if you still want to tell me," she said quietly.

"Okay," Walter nodded and swallowed hard, "I know I handled it poorly. I know I was childish and I shouldn't have sabotaged your weekend. I behaved badly."

"I think we've all punished you enough for those decisions. Yourself included."

"But I've never… And I, uh, don't know how… I'm so in love with you. I want what's best for you. I do. But I can't stop. I'm sorry," he finally said closing his eyes and bracing himself for the rejection he was sure was coming.

 **AN: I've almost given up and thrown in the towel on this story many times because very few people are reading it. But I don't like leaving things unfinished. So for those of you still with me, thank you for reading. And a huge THANK YOU to my faithful reviewers. I appreciate the encouragement more than you know. Probably one more chapter to go. I can't leave Waige where I did. T** **his went from a funny little romp to angsty in seconds. But this whole season has just been SO sad. They've been so hard on Walter. It's excruciating at times. Also, I started this story while Happy was still pregnant, so I chose to leave her there in my world for continuity. I couldn't decide what she would wear at her wedding either. I debated on everything from a replica of her mother's dress to her motorcycle leathers, but in the end I left it to your imagination.**


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

"… _I'm so in love with you. I want what's best for you. I do. But I can't stop. I'm sorry_."

Struck speechless while her mind tried to grasp what Walter said when the same words were resonating over and over in her heart, Paige stared, open mouthed. It wasn't the first time she heard those powerful words from him, but it was the first time he was fully cognizant when he said them to her. She exhaled his name with the breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

She couldn't understand his apology though, so she cleared her suddenly tight throat and said, "Why would you be sorry?"

"Because if-if I'm only half baked and I try to win your love, I could h-hurt, uh, you and-and Ralph. I _never_ want that. It's, um, I'm not good for you. I'm not ready."

"Where are you getting this? Who told you all that?"

"Well, uh, Cabe initially. He was concerned, Paige. And Toby told me I was playing with fire and I should just accept you had moved on with Tim."

Suddenly furious, Paige took a deep breath and tried mentally counting to ten. But five was all she could manage before she said in a brittle tone. "Whose job is it to decide what's good for me or my son? And who exactly gets to determine when you're ready? Did they plan to let you know and give you permission to go ahead? That's bullshit, Walter! No one bothered to ask me what I thought was good for me. Or Ralph. What if I wanted to be there, be with you while you grew into what they would call ready? What if I was already in love with you too? Did they even stop to consider that?!"

Not understanding her tone or if the negative emotions were directed toward him, Walter searched her face for clues. His brain had stalled on one thing she said. "Were you? Are you still?"

Still fuming, Paige clipped out, "Was I what?"

"Already in, uh, love with-with…?" He trailed off unable to finish. "So what you said to me when I was in space, was that…real?"

"Wait. You remember that?"

"Oh, um, I started having dreams…vivid dreams about… I didn't know what was real or what I'd imagined. So, I hacked the security footage from the control booth. It was…enlightening. And more than a little humiliating. I figured you…only said what you said because you were trying to save my life… You never said anything afterwards."

"I'm going to kill the shrink," Paige ground out, her jaw clenched. "I should kill him before his honeymoon, but I don't think Happy deserves to be punished. She and Sylvester are the only ones not handing out unsolicited advice or opinions right now. Toby told me not to ask you about it or bring it up because it would be catastrophic to your emotional stability or something."

With a rueful smile, Walter asked "Maybe you would be doing Happy a favor in the long run if you take care of Toby now? Or in lieu of actual murder, should I just cancel their reservations and place a call to the health department?"

With his words, the tension was broken and when their eyes met they both started laughing. When they calmed down, Paige said, "I've missed this. Missed _you_. Let's make another pact. Let's reestablish open communication right now and when someone gives you advice on how to 'handle' me, ask me first before you take it. And I'll do the same. Deal?"

"Deal," he said, smiling brightly and hopefully at her, "You never answered my earlier question, so in the spirit of open communication, do you, uh…?"

"Oh, I love you, Walter O'Brien. More than I ever thought possible." Paige grabbed the ends of his tie and tugged his face down to hers. She planted her lips squarely on his.

Walter was a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them. He gathered her in his arms and kissed her right back. The microwave wasn't the only thing in the kitchen that could heat things up in a hurry.

"Ewww! Mom! Walter?!"

The pair sprang apart like guilty children at the sound of Ralph's disgusted voice, but the boy couldn't hide his ear-to-ear grin. "You guys disappeared. I was just coming to find you. Everyone's still on the roof. It's supposed to be a party, you know. People are _dancing_. Remember what I told you, Walter?"

Unable to disguise his own delight or tear his eyes away from Paige's flushed face, Walter answered, "We're right behind you, buddy."

Ralph headed back up the ramp looking over his shoulder with a satisfied smirk as his mom and his best friend and mentor followed behind him hand-in-hand.

"What was Ralph talking about? What did he tell you?" Paige murmured to Walter pressing her cheek to his shoulder.

The melting look in his eyes made her knees go weak. "He told me I should have taken you dancing when I had the chance. That he and I could have been partners forever. Since I would like nothing more, please let me remedy that oversight and say you'll dance with me tonight."

"Try and stop me," Paige replied and with a flirty look she added, "By the way, Toby showed me some interesting pictures from the bachelor party. I think the feathers were a good look for you. Oh, and I saw the video. It certainly explained how the glitter got all over your front. But it didn't seem like you enjoyed your experience much. If you're up for it, after everyone's left and Ralph has gone to bed, we could reattempt the experiment together. Just to see if the results vary. You know, in the name of scientific research."

Blushing but beaming, Walter answered, "Well, if it's for the advancement of science, how could I say no?"

 **AN: I was thrilled with all the reviews on the last chapter! Thank you! That said, I wasn't trying to guilt anyone. lol I watch my traffic stats and I just noticed not as many people were reading as usual. I just figured the story wasn't a lot of people's cup of tea. That's fine. It's just a lot of work if no one is reading.**

 **Thank you again for your responses. You are the best-est! And I hope you enjoy this last little chapter.**


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